


Ashes

by wobuzhidao322



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Manipulation, Post-Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25415512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wobuzhidao322/pseuds/wobuzhidao322
Summary: At Kings Cross Station, after Voldermort has killed him, Harry Potter chooses to come back. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't come back to his own time. Transported back to Hogwarts in 1944, he is left stranded in a different time, with no money, no friends, and no idea how to get back. The only thing that could make the situation worse is that one Tom Riddle seems to have taken an interest in him. How it could get worse from there, he has no idea. It, of course... gets worse.Switches from Tom's POV to Harry's. Endgame is Tomarry and will probably more towards Explicit.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 12
Kudos: 133





	1. An Unexpected Addition

There was something wrong about the new boy, of that Tom was sure, and he was sure of very few things these days. He couldn't quite decide what it was, but something about the green-eyed boy set his teeth on edge. Maybe it was the way he looked at him, equal parts angry and pitying. Perhaps it was the fact that while everyone else seemed to have bought into his charming act, one "Harry Potter" seemed to see right through it. The boy had neither said nor done anything outwardly suspicious, of course, other than that first night in the common room. In fact, he had mostly kept to himself, quiet and unremarkable, but Tom was not deceived. He felt those bright green eyes on him too often not to realize that Potter was watching him closely. To many, the interest might have seemed harmless; in fact, many people looked at Tom, but not like this. Not with the burning intensity of someone who knew about every drop of blood already coating his hands. People usually looked at him in jealousy or admiration, nothing like the way Potter looked at him. Either way, the boy was a problem and one that would need to be dealt with.

It had been five days since the boy had appeared at Hogwarts. Thrilled to be back at school, Tom had swept into the great hall for the welcoming feast with confidence. He had gone through the normal motions of any day at school, smiling when he needed to smile, laughing at professor Slughorn's idiotic jokes, playing the part of 'head boy' to perfection. When at last, he had come to sit down amongst his followers, he had been almost happy. It was with minimal interest that he watched the first years stroll in, eyes wide with pathetic wonder at the enchanted ceiling. Tom let his mind wander as the sorting began. It was of little interest which first years were placed in what house. After all, the new Slytherins would either be pulled into his orbit or suffer the consequences, and he cared little for any in the other three houses. He was halfway through planning what he would say at the first meeting of his little group of followers when Lestrange touched him gently on the shoulder. He followed the dark-haired boy's gaze to a figure who stood alone now before the sorting hat. The boy was older than the first years, probably around their own age. He stood, staring straight ahead, eyes scanning the head table intently, which was odd in and of itself. If this was his first time in the great hall, it didn't show. From where he sat at the table, Tom could only see him in profile, but he made out a strong brow, a pair of glasses, and a sharp jaw. 

There was a nervous buzz as Headmaster Dippet rose from his seat to address the hall.  
"Well, as you may have noticed, we have a new addition to our school this year. Mr. Potter here has come to study with us, following some unpleasantness in Europe, and given his situation, he will be joining the seventh year class. I expect all of you to welcome him into our family and to help him to adjust. After all, in this dangerous new world we live in, it is increasingly important that we remain united in welcoming those in need." At his side, he heard Lestrange bite back a sour chuckle at the Headmaster's turn of phrase. Normally Tom would have shot him a warning look, but it hardly seemed necessary, for once he was quite certain, there was little chance anyone would be looking at them. 

As professor Dippet moved to sit down, an excited murmur filled the hall. Tom, however, did not join in on the speculation. He was too busy watching the new boy, mind turning rapidly. Everything about the situation was strange. Hogwarts had never, to his knowledge, accepted a transfer student in their seventh year. In fact, Tom was not aware of Hogwarts ever taking on a new student at all, and he had read nearly every history of the school he could find during his search for the Chamber of Secrets. What was it Dippet had said, he mused, "Unpleasantness in Europe. How deliciously vague." For a brief moment, he wondered if he was being paranoid. For all, he knew this boy was one of many who had been left in the wake of Grindelwald's destruction, and if these times were anything, they were unprecedented. "And now," Dippet's voice cut through both the chatter and Tom's thoughts, "We will get him sorted into his house, and let the feast commence." 

Potter strode up to the sorting hat, taking a seat on the worn little stool carefully. There was grace to his movements, which struck Tom as rather odd for a seventeen-year-old. While most of his classmates were rather awkward, Potter moved carefully, but quickly, like the soldiers Tom had seen in the newsreels during his miserable summer in the muggle world. As the sorting hat was placed on his head, the great hall fell eerily quiet. 

Sorting was usually a rather quick process. The hat had barely touched his own head all those years ago before yelling out "Slytherin," and for most students, it was often the same. However, once again, Harry Potter seemed to be an exception. One moment stretched into another, but the sorting hat remained silent. For a second, Tom wondered if the silly thing had broken at last. After all, it was rather impressive the enchantments on the old hat had lasted so long in the first place. Whispers were starting to ebb and flow among the students once more. At his side, he heard Avery mutter under his breath, "Christ, how long is this going to take." Tom hummed in agreement. After what felt like an eternity, the silence was broken as the hat cried out, "Slytherin," in its usual booming voice. Interesting. Though he barely ever deigned to pay attention to the sorting anymore, he was aware of how odd it was that the deliberation had taken so long. Most wizards or witches placed into his house had barely had a chance to sit down before they were sorted into Slytherin. 

The decision was followed by light applause from the other members of his house, and whispers from the rest of the students. Potter's emerald eyes flicked open, and then he was looking straight at Tom. His face was a mask of perfect calm, but those eyes flashed with something Tom hadn't seen in so many years- with hatred, and anger, and, more importantly, with knowledge. It was the same knowledge he had seen in Dumbledore's eyes when he had set the dresser on fire so many years ago in the orphanage. The same he saw even now in the professor's eyes every time he looked at him like he knew what Tom had done- who he really was. It sent a chill down his spine. Harry Potter knew something. But no, he calmed himself, that was impossible. No one knew what had happened that night in Little Hangleton, not even Dumbledore, who kept such a close watch on him. No one knew about his disgusting muggle relatives and their sad little deaths. He rubbed the gaunt ring he now wore absentmindedly, watching as Potter rose quickly from the stool and strode across the hall to sit alone at the end of the table. 

Dippet spoke again, and then the massive feast materialized on the tables before them. The rest of the feast went on as usual, although most of the conversation eventually stayed away from speculations about the new boy and towards accounts of summer holidays and news about Grindelwald. As for Potter, he remained quiet and alone, politely excusing himself from all conversation when approached. Tom had spent the rest of the meal alternating between listening half-heartedly to Lestrange and Avery talking politics and watching Potter, fiddling with the Gaunt ring all the while. He couldn't help but get the impression that Potter was purposefully ignoring him. 

The new boy did not look back at him once, and given the way, his brow furrowed every time Tom looked his way, no matter how covertly, it was highly unlikely he was unaware of the attention. "Strange," he muttered to himself, before once more turning back Avery and Lestrange. Whoever Potter was, it was unlikely that he would be able to keep up the "shy new boy' routine forever, and given that he was now in Tom's own house, there would be no shortage of opportunities to pick him apart and see what made him tick. That thought alone set his mind at ease. 

When at long last the meal was over, Tom bid a quick farewell to his 'friends' before stepping easily into the role of 'welcoming head boy.' Professor Slughorn stopped him as he rose from his table for a quick word. Tom smiled charmingly as the idiot railed on about being welcoming to the new boy, and 'taking him under his wing.' Thankfully it was one of their shorter interactions. It wasn't that Tom hated the man, it was more that he thought him completely pathetic. After all, what grown man with any self-respect was so easily swayed by the whims of a boy a quarter his age. Not that Slughorn was alone, of course. Most people gave Tom what he wanted or even went out of their way to please him. He knew very well what a charming smile and a little bit of deference would get him out of a man like Slughorn. Lestrange was convinced the old idiot fancied Tom. Of course, it would explain his blind devotion even in the face of the dangerous questions he asked his professor. Not that Tom cared either way. If anything, it made him easier to manipulate.

"First years, and you Harry, will follow me," He called out to the gaggle of excited little Slytherins, making sure to put on his most charming smile. Tom watched approvingly as the first years gathered around him. Potter rose too, falling into the back of the line. With another bright smile, Tom gestured for the group to follow them out of the great hall and into the castle. As he led the new students down towards the Slytherin common room, he occasionally cast a glance back at the first years, stopping every so often to point out something of note or interest. 

Much to his satisfaction, he already had quite a few of the first-year girls giggled and making eyes at him. It was not very surprising. He knew he looked good in his long robes, which he had become quite adept at transfiguring to fit him perfectly. He was not a vain person by any means, but he had learned the power of looks when they were properly maintained and enhanced. Though fear had always been such an attainable motivator for him, adoration could be just as useful. Even in Slytherin, there was no shortage of simpering fools who could be persuaded into usefulness. Potter, of course, was the exception. The few times he caught his eye, he was met with looks cold distaste before Potter turned away. As they made their way slowly towards the Dungeons, Tom was once again struck by how at ease potter seemed to be in the castle. While the first years were nothing but "ooh's and ah's" for everything from the paintings to the changing stairs, Potter instead looked wistful, like he was walking through a graveyard of memories. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

When at long last they reached the coming room, the tittering of the little first years was begging to grate on his nerves. Tom turned once more to face his little audience, a bunch of nervous faces, and Potter, who was hanging back in the shadows.  
"Now," he smiled, "the password for this term is Bezoar, it was chosen by our head of house, Professor Slughorn. Do not forget it as you will not be able to get back into the dormitories without it, is that understood?" There was scattered nodding. "Good," he finished, "Now when we get inside the boy's dormitories will be on the left, and the girl's on the right. All of your things have already been brought to your rooms, and lights out will be at nine o'clock sharp, no exceptions. Now, if any of you find yourselves in any trouble, I will be there for you as head boy, but you must understand that foolishness is not tolerated in this house. And it will especially not be tolerated by me. If any of you cause any trouble, you will suffer the consequences of your actions." He let his tone sharpen a little bit in warning. "We look after one another here in Slytherin, but only to a point. You are members of this house now, and you will uphold its good name and honor, is that clear?" Everyone nodded in affirmation, everyone except Potter, of course, who was, much to Tom's surprise, smirking. 

Tom opened the door to the common room, and the First Years filled in quickly, heading towards their rooms as instructed. He was far from surprised when Potter lingered outside the door as if uncertain of whether he was going to enter or not. As Tom watched, he turned, looking back up the stairs that lead down to the dungeon with something that almost approached longing. 

"You can't stay outside all night, you know. Even if you are a Slytherin, I'll have to take points away if you're outside of the dormitory after curfew," He smiled at Potter. It was the type of soft smile that so often got him what he wanted out of people. Those green eyes were on him again in a flash, Potters face twisted in dislike. But again, just as quickly as the look was there, it was replaced by that blank mask. How odd it was, he thought. Tom had never met the other boy, not to his knowledge anyway, and he was fairly certain he would have remembered Harry. Those bright green eyes and the shock of raven black hair was not something he would have so easily forgotten. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.  
"Have we met before? Somewhere?" He asked. Something imperceptible flashed in those green eyes, as Potter paused, pushing his worn glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

For a moment, it looked as though Harry was going to say something, but then he seemingly thought better of it. Tom watched in interest as Potter quickly strode past him into the common room. However, before the boy could get too far inside, Tom grabbed him gently by the elbow. He felt Potter flinch violently at the touch, but once again, Potter seemed to think better of whatever it was he was going to do.  
"Professor Slughorn has informed me that you will be in our room. I can show you the way if you like." Harry whipped around the look of abject horror on his face almost comical. "Your joking," the new boy spat angrily. Tom gave him another Cheshire smile, showing maybe too many teeth to be friendly. "He asked that I be your guide and acclimate you to Hogwarts. It is not very often we have a transfer student here, but I'm sure you know that. And given that I am head boy, he believes there would be no one better than myself to keep you on the straight and narrow path." 

If looks could kill, Tom was quite certain he would be lying cold and dead on the black tile floor. In the green light of the common room, those already brilliant eyes seemed even more vivid. Standing as close as they were, Tom saw for the first time a scar on the boy's forehead. It was shaped like a lightning bolt. Before he himself knew what he was doing, Tom had raised a finger and was carefully pushing the boy's black hair aside. He traces the lightening bolt gentled with the tip of his finger, feeling more than hearing the shudder that went through the other boy. A twinge of something familiar sparked inside of Tom, like the memory of a dream or the refrain of some childhood lullaby long forgotten. For a moment, Potter stood frozen, and then before Tom could even blink, there was a wand at his throat- and the spell was broken.  
"Never touch me again, Riddle," Harry hissed, something low and dangerous in his voice. "Or I swear to you it will be the last thing you ever do." With that, Potter stepped back, leaving Tom in a state of shock as he watched the other boy pocket his wand and walk towards the Boys dormitories. 

Tom, quite unsure of why he did it, found himself calling out after the black-haired boy. "Potter!" Harry froze but did not turn to look at him. "Next time you pull your wand on me, you had better be ready to use it," Tom whispered. He did not raise his voice. He knew he didn't need to. The common room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Harry kept on walking. 

Tom was left alone in the common room. "Well," he whispered to himself, "and to think I thought this year was going to be dull."


	2. Devil's Snare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick Chapter for Today: How Harry got here. I don't think I will do their meeting from Harry's POV just because it's more fun in my mind to get half of the picture from one and fill in the blanks rather than rehash it, but if you would like to see harry's sorting POV and meeting Tom let me know, and I can do that next. Otherwise, I was planning on getting straight into the story now that we know how everyone got here.

Something had gone wrong. Harry knew that the moment his eyes opened. Not only was he entirely alone, while the forest he had died in had been cold with the last damp of winter, here the summer sun filtered down through the trees. Harry reached out a hand, feeling the morning dew on the forest floor. It was reassuringly solid. "So not a dream then," he said to no one in particular. He couldn't decide if that was worse than if it had been a dream. At least you could wake up from a dream.

Birdsong filtered through the trees above, shrill and beautiful, and for a moment he just lay there, resting. He breathed in the cool morning breeze, letting his eyes fall closed. So many times over the past year, he had felt so tired. Now, even with the weight of the Horcrux lifted, he still felt exhausted. Yet, Harry reminded himself, he was alive, against all the odds, and that had to be worth something. 

After a moment, he slowly rose from the mossy ground, every muscle in his body aching with the strain. There was no sign of the fight, the destruction of the Voldemort and his army. In fact, the ground where he had fallen what felt like moments ago to the jeers and shouts of the death eaters was now sprouting with little white flowers. 

For a moment, he tried to reassure himself. Maybe, he reasoned, Voldemort had simply left him to rot here, but Harry knew that was unlikely. Voldemort would have brought Harry's body to the gates of Hogwarts as some sort of sick trophy, and besides that wouldn't account for the change in season. He checked his back pocket, but it was empty. Malfoy's wand was gone. This was not good. 

Harry closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. It was easy to feel the panic threatening to set in, but given the current situation, he knew that would be less than productive. Even now, Harry felt it threatening to take over, 'but this is devil's snare, you have to relax,' he heard Hermione's voice at the back of his mind. "Don't panic," he whispered, a small, sad smile on his face at the memory. He had made it so far, through so much, he could make it through one more challenge. Harry didn't let himself wonder where she was, Ron, or any of them. He couldn't take that right now, besides he needed a clear head if he was going to figure out what had happened. 

Dumbledore- the Dumbledore in his mind had told him that if he chose, he could return. And he seemed to have done just that, so there was no need to panic quite yet. For all, he knew, coming back from the beyond took a little longer than usual. Harry felt no twinge in his scar, and given that all manner of living things seemed to have returned to the forest, he could hold out hope that perhaps they had done it. His sacrifice had been the last thing they needed. Ron and Hermione might have done the rest. No need to panic. 

After another moment, he opened his eyes, taking one last deep breath before setting out through the trees towards the direction of what should be the castle. 

He had only been walking for about ten minutes when he was stopped by a man in light blue robes. They were in style he had not seen before but were still covered in the usual level of embroidery he had come to expect from Wizards. Harry managed one more step before he realized that the man's wand was drawn. A pair of very familiar blue eyes narrowed as they took him in. 

Harry knew him. Knew that face. "Professor-Professor Dumbledore?" he stuttered uselessly, too taken aback by the sight of his dead mentor to do much more than stand frozen in place, eyes wide. "Is that you?" Dumbledore seemed equally surprised at being called by name, but he still made no move to lower his wand. It was then that Harry realized what he must look like: battle-torn, bloody, and exhausted.   
"Yes, I am professor Dumbledore, but I think the question of more importance here is who you are, and how on earth you managed to get through the wards." 

Harry took another look at the man. He didn't appear to be another vision. No, there was no reason for him to imagine Dumbledore like this, young and dangerous looking. A horrible thought began to form in his mind as he looked at the professor. A sick feeling materialized in the pit of his stomach. 

Dumbledore was staring at him curiously as if really taking him in now. Harry played for time, now incredibly aware that he was without his wand. "My name is Harry Potter, Sir. I am...I was a student here." Those blue eyes narrowed once again.   
"You are, or you were, Mr. Potter?" His voice was calm, but firm, not quite the way Harry remembered it but close enough. Heart sinking, Harry paused to consider the question.   
"I'm not quite sure, Sir," He finally responded. 

Harry paused once more, taking in Dumbledores' face, the robes, his wand- not the elder wand he had always seen him wield. "Sir," he started again, almost unable to get the question out, "What's the date today? What year is it?" It was barely a whisper, but even he could hear the tremble in his voice as he asked.   
Dumbledore was really looking at him now, face caught between a mixture of confusion and worry. Harry could see the professor putting it together now just as he had. Looking at his T-shirt, the track suit jumper, the rundown trainers, and coming to the same conclusion.

"It's August 24th, Mr. Potter. 1944,” Dumbledore answered slowly, “Where are you from?" 

Harry didn't hear the question, he had already hit the forest floor. 

Harry awoke to a hauntingly familiar sound. He counted slowly, eyes still closed. After the sixth chime, the Hogwarts bell fell silent. Harry opened his eyes, blearily taking in his new surroundings. He had been moved, by Dumbledore, no doubt, to what appeared to be the hospital wing. Oddly enough, this particular part of the castle seemed to have changed very little. It was filled with the same depressing hospital beds, and on the far side of the room, he could see a woman who was not Madam Pomfrey fussing with bottles of some potion or other. 

Someone beside him cleared their throat. Harry turned to see professor Dumbledore sat calmly in a chair at his bedside. He still wore the light blue robes from the forest, so it must have been the same day. The professor's glasses were resting on the bridge of his nose as he looked at Harry. It reminded him so much of the night in the hospital wing after his fight with Voldemort over the philosopher's stone so many years ago. They looked at one another for a moment, each considering the other carefully. 

"So," it was Dumbledore who broke the silence, "I believe we have much to discuss, Mr. Potter." Harry nodded.   
"It is apparent to me that somehow, you seem to be quite out of place here. And given that you seem to know who I am, even though I have no memory of you, I can only assume that either we have already encountered one another," those blue eyes glinted, "or we one day will, am I correct?" 

Harry nodded carefully. Dumbledore hummed, leaning back in his chair. "I must confess, Mr. Potter-"   
"Harry," the gree eyed-boy interjected quickly. "You can call me Harry. Mr. Potter doesn't sound quite right, after everything," he finished lamely.   
The professor's lips quirked up in a small smile at that. "Alright. I must confess, Harry, in the many years I have studied magic and magical history, I have never once heard of anyone falling through time in quite the way you have.Time turners seemed a possibility, but given the state of your clothes, It seems unlikely. In my experience, they only suffice for a few hours or so, never decades into the past." There was a pause. The question at the end of his little speech was clear, even if Dumbledore had not posed it out loud. So how then did you manage to do it?

Harry wondered for a moment how much he should reveal. For all he knew, telling Dumbledore anything could be disastrous, but then again, there was no real way he could avoid it now. The man had guessed too much for him to lie right out. Still, it might be helpful to have someone on his side. The thought of being stuck here in 1944, with no money, friends, or any idea of how to return to his own time, was far from appealing. 

He decided to choose truth, or as close to it as he believed he could get without revealing anything dangerous. "It wasn't a time turner, Sir. I do not think it is the kind of magic you will find in any book. In fact, I am not quite sure it was magic at all." That glint was back in Dumbledor's eyes. Harry could see the gears beginning to spin in that brilliant mind. There was another moment before Dumbledore spoke again. "If not magic, then what?" 

And here it was, the point of no return.   
" I died, Sir. I died in my time, but I was given a choice. I could pass on, or I could return and finish what was started, complete the prophecy. I chose to come back. I thought," Harry paused, trying to choose his next words as carefully as possible. "I thought I would return to that moment, to my own time, but I seem to have landed here." 

"and why were you, Harry, given that choice? You must forgive me for asking you this, but why you of all others? How did you survive death?" Dumbledore's voice was dangerously calm, his eyes shining bright. For a moment, Harry wondered if he was thinking of Arianna, wondering why she had never been given a second chance at life. 

"In my time, there is a dark wizard, more powerful and terrible than any who has ever lived before. When I was born, there was a prophecy. A prophecy that pitted us against one another. This wizard, he came looking for me. He killed my parents, murdered them when they tried to protect me. But, when he tried to kill me, the spell rebounded and gave me this," Harry paused to pull away the hair hanging over his scar. "I survived what no other has, and from that moment, he has tried to kill me. We fought for years. Finally, there was a battle here at Hogwarts. I lost friends, family, the only people I had ever cared for." He could feel the tremor in his voice as he spoke, each new word dredging up the pain every loss. Dobby. Sirius. Fred.   
"We gave everything we had to weaken him and make it a fair fight, but in the end, the loss was too much."  
Harry paused, feeling the tears threatening to fall from his eyes as he thought of them all. Of Tonks and Lupin, of their lifeless bodies. He thought of Snape, the man who had so long tried to protect him. It was almost too much. Dumbledore was watching him with frightening intensity.   
"He called me out, offered to spare the others if I fought him. I accepted. So, we fought, and I died." 

There was a long silence. Harry felt the tears begin to fall, not bothering to wipe them away as they slid down his cheeks. Dumbledore looked like he was about to speak, but Harry cut him off quickly. "You asked me if we knew one another? We did. Or we will, one day. One day, you will be the man who changed my life, the man that gives me hope. I cannot tell you more than that. Perhaps my being here changes things; maybe it doesn't, but you must understand that I will do my best to be honest with you. For whatever reason, the power that saved me from death a second time brought me here. To do what I have no idea? Maybe to live out my life in peace and die again here, where no one knows my name, perhaps to change the future. I don't know. " With that, Harry fell silent. The words had poured from him so quickly that he was barely aware of what he had said, but now he was aware of the truth in them.   
Maybe this was his reward, to live out the rest of his days here, nobody with nothing to prove. He briefly allowed himself what that would be like? To live his life in peace. 

The silence stretched on for minutes, although to Harry, it might have been centuries. The weight of what he had done and what it might mean was crushing. What if Dumbledore didn't believe him? What would he do then? Without a wand, there was little he could do to protect himself. 

"I believe you, Harry," Dumbledore replied quietly. Harry felt a flood of relief. 

They talked deep into the night, planning and plotting. It was eventually decided that Dumbledore would take Harry in. It would be easy enough, and given his reputation for eccentricity, adopting the son of a fallen friend in Europe wouldn't seem incredibly out of character. They made arrangements to go to London the next day to get him a wand and some new clothes. Harry was hardly thrilled at the idea of having to dress in the rather intricate style that seemed to be in fashion these days, but there was no denying that he could hardly go around in his bloodstained jumper anymore. After a while, Harry felt some of the strain of the day ease. It felt good to have a focus, something to look forward too once again. There was no telling how long it would take them to figure out how to send him back, and then there was the possibility that he might never return, but he could take it day by day. 

It was as Dumbledore was about to leave, to let Harry have some more rest before the busy day ahead, that with a jolt of horror, Harry thought of something. Perhaps it was sitting here in the Hospital wing, staring up at the ceiling as he had done so many times as he waited for his bones to regrow that made him think of it. 1944. The year was important, wasn't it? After all, Voldemort had been a student here, but surely not now. Not 1944? He must have graduated by then. It couldn't wait, he needed to know. 

"Professor," Harry called out, waiting for the man to turn. Dumbledore wore a kind smile, but it faded at the look on Harry's face. "What is it, Harry?" he asked, clearly concerned at the sudden change in the boy's demeanor. 

"Has the chamber of secrets been opened? Did a student die?" Harry whispered. The horror on Dumbledore's face was apparent at the question. That was all the answer Harry needed.   
Tom Riddle was here. Tom riddle was still in school. Tom Riddle had found him once again.


	3. A Bit of Light Reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick chapter for tonight! So sorry for the delay, my laptop broke, and I needed a new keyboard. It was a nightmare, but I have a new one and should get back to my story plan. Thanks for the lovely comments <3

Tom sat back in the worn little library chair and sighed, before closing the large book in his lap entitled "A History of Wizarding Families in Great Britain." It was getting rather late, and he would be due to begin his rounds in only an hour, but he couldn't resist the temptation to look over the book one more time just to be entirely certain he hadn't missed something. It had been three whole weeks since Potter's arrival at school, and despite his best efforts and those of his followers, he still hadn't been able to crack the enigma that was Harry Potter. 

What had started as a little digging into the boy's background for any information that might prove useful leverage had quickly spiraled into a full-scale investigation of the raven-haired boy. It would not be self-aggrandizing for Tom to say he was quite gifted when it came to research. After all, he had found the Chamber of Secrets, a place that many believed was a myth for centuries. Not only that, but he had also backtracked his lineage to that of the great Salazar Slytherin himself. Yet, he had hit a wall with Potter. So, what was supposed to be a quick bit of reading turned into nights in the library pouring over musty old books to no avail. 

In truth, Tom knew he was developing a little bit of an obsession with the boy. The library's resources exhausted Tom had eventually been forced to pry what little information he could out of Slughorn, which had been as tedious as it was useless in the end. All the potions master knew was that Dumbledore had supposedly adopted Potter following the death of his parents at the hands of Grindelwald during the summer, and even something about that rang false as well. He had trolled through nearly every copy of the prophet he could find in the school library and had found no mention at all of anyone by the name of Potter who had died in connection to the dark wizard. Which was not to say the reports of Potter's family's demise might not have been written up in the papers. After all, the sheer amount of death and destruction meant that some tragedy slipped through the cracks. Yet, it still seemed unlikely that there would be no mention of it anywhere. It seemed that every thread he pulled when it came to Potter came apart in his hands, and he was yet again left with nothing but a mystery.

What's more, he couldn't find any record of a Harry Potter in any of the genealogies he could get his hands on, though it must be said the library was rather unhelpful in this respect. There was a rather old Wizarding family of Potters in Godrick's Hollow, but there was no mention of Harry. He had toyed with the idea that perhaps Potter was a muggle-born, but he had quickly dismissed that as silliness. After all, no mere mudblood could have possibly captivated him the way Harry did, and captivate him Potter did. 

Potter had caught him off guard that night, had shown something Tom had not seen in anyone else at school, the same simmering anger Tom felt within his own soul, or what was left of it. From that moment on, Tom had kept a close watch on Harry Potter. In most classes, Potter was quiet. He sat on the opposite side of the room from Tom whenever possible. Close to the door as well so he could leave at the sound of the bell. He seemed a fair student in everything but potions, but in Defense, he shined. Tom had yet to see anyone as skilled as himself in his entire time at the school, but Potter was close. Harry was quick and graceful, casting even advanced spells with practiced ease. In fact, it was often difficult for Tom not to lose himself in the grace of the movements. He had known that he had to have Potter the moment the boy had drawn his wand on him but feeling the raw power that surged through the room when Harry cast defensive spells cinched it. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than a bit of a challenge every now and again, it was power, and it was clear that no matter how hard Potter tried to hide it, his magic was strong. And so Tom had decided he would bend Potter to his will the same way he had everyone else. It was only a matter of time and strategy. 

The only problem was that it seemed nearly impossible to get Potter alone. He had expected Potter to avoid him, but he had not expected Harry to avoid the entire student body. The boy seemed utterly content with passing out the rest of the year in complete isolation. Not only had he yet to try and ingratiate himself with any of his peers, but during meals, he would sit alone, eating quickly and avoiding conversation before leaving quickly. At night when Tom returned from his rounds, the curtains would be drawn around Potter's bed, and in the morning by the time any of the others were awake, Harry would already be long gone. The moment after classes ended or during any free period, Potter would simply vanish, only returning to the Slytherin common room just before curfew. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that they were in every class together, it would almost seem as though the boy didn't exist. He was almost certainly avoiding Tom, but that was no matter. Harry couldn't hide from him forever. 

Then the only matter that remained was that of Potter's abject hatred of him. This was perhaps what intrigued Tom more than the dubious backstory, and the strange anti-social behavior put together. Every time Tom caught Harry's eye, he could see it there, pure loathing laid bare before Potter quickly looked away. It nearly took his breath away. There was something about the rawness of the emotion that drew him in and made him want more. Most might have thought it strange that he longed to watch those green eyes narrow in anger at him, some might have even thought it masochistic, but this was far from the case. Tom longed to feel the rush he had felt in the common room that night. Harry had made him slip and lose control of himself for a moment, which had been new. In truth, Tom could barely remember the last time that had happened. In the orphanage, loss of control was dangerous, and over the years, what had been a necessity had simply become a habit. Until Potter, that is. 

Tom rose from his seat and stretched slow and languid, before striding through the rows of shelves towards the door. The library was almost completely deserted now. Few wanted to start the year off by needlessly losing house points for being out of their dormitory so close to curfew. He was halfway to the door when he spotted Potter sitting quietly at one of the small tables by the window. Tom stopped quickly. In the warm light of the library lamps, Harry's hair was inky black. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he turned the page of the little book he was reading. Tom couldn't quite make out the title, but he observed enough detail so that he would no doubt be able to track it down if need be.

Tom cleared his throat, something within him purring in amusement as Potter looked up in surprise, and then upon seeing it was him, quickly donned his mask of cool dislike. Tom smiled down at him, stepping to the left to lean against the bookshelf. "What do you want, Riddle," Harry hissed clearly irritated. Tom brought up his hand to casually inspect his nails, the picture of ease. "Oh really, Harry," he tutted, "Call me Tom. I mean, as we sleep barely a meter apart, I see no need for the formality of last names." Tom looked up, flashing Harry with his best smile, "I rather think the two of use ought to be friends, don't you? I admit we got off on the wrong foot, but I see no reason for that to spoil everything. I am willing to forgive you for that little outburst." At that, Harry's expression turned distinctly murderous for a second before he composed himself once more. Tom watched as the bespectacled boy's face returned to that neutral calm. It was electrifying, that violence that so clearly lurked under the placid surface of Harry Potter's mind. Riddle let his smile widen into something more predatory, watching Harry closely for a reaction. "It seems a shame for you to spend the whole year all alone, and after all, Slytherin can be a rather cold place for those who refuse to play well with others." 

Harry laughed at that. It was dark and cold and delicious. "Why do I get the feeling you mean those who don't play well with you, Riddle?" He sneered. The golden lamplight reflected in his round glasses, making them glint. Those bright green eyes looked almost poisonous. This was everything he had been craving since that first night, the electricity that crackled between them.  
So Tom drew in closer, relishing the way Harry tensed as he did so. 

"Of course, that's what I mean, Harry. As I'm sure you've noticed, the rest of our house takes their cues from me, and I'm afraid there are no exceptions, even for you, Harry, but that doesn't mean I can't be reasonable," Tom winked lecherously. "And I must admit you have very much attracted my interest," he finished, watching as Harry froze. A myriad of emotions flashed across Potter's face once more before settling on the cold mask Tom both loved and hated. 

When he spoke, Harry's tone was carefully neutral. "I think I've made my stance on that quite clear, Riddle. Now, if you'll excuse me," Harry made to stand up, but Tom stepped closer, boxing him into the wall with frightening speed. He saw Harry's hand twitch towards his wand and caught his wrist. He felt Potter shudder at the contact. Tom couldn't help but tighten his grip just a bit if only to see Potter's green eyes widen as it turned near painful. "Now, now, Harry. Remember what I told you. If you go for that again, I'll be forced to draw my own, and I don't think you want that to happen. It would be a shame to have to give you another scar, although I must say, the one on your forehead suits you so well."

Harry let out a huff that sounded almost like a laugh, but his cheeks darkened with something that almost looked like a blush. When he spoke, his voice was breathless. "Merlin. You reay are out of your mind, aren't you? Even now. Were you always this twisted, Tom," He spat out the name like it was a curse. "Or did it come slowly? Tell me what was it that pushed you over the edge." 

Tom leaned in even closer, lips ghosting over the other boy's neck as he did so. Later he would tell himself it was because he knew it would make Potter squirm, but deep down, he knew it was merely because he couldn't help himself. He felt almost possessed by the urge to do so. 

"Careful, Harry. Very careful," Tom whispered. He kept his voice low and dangerous. Tom could almost feel Harry's heart pick up its pace. Yet, even though he was obviously aware of how dangerous the ground he was on was, Harry couldn't help himself. Tom pulled back only slightly to take in that defiant face. 

"Or what, Tom?" Harry hissed, "Are you really willing to risk everything on hurting me here? In Hogwarts? No, you're too smart for that." The words didn't take Tom aback even if they should have. Instead, he smiled again, tightening his grip on Harry like a vice. 

"Whoever said It would be me?" 

Harry laughed. He looked half-mad. It was then that Tom noticed how very tired the other boy looked. It was well hidden, but the subtle signs were there none the less. For a moment, Tom wondered what it was that was keeping Potter awake all night, but in the end, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the heat he could feel coming off the dark-haired boy, the subtle hitch in his breath as his eyes narrowed. 

"Let go of me, Tom," whispered Harry. Tom replied with careful ease, resisting the urge too lean even closer. "Are you going to make me, Harry? Because I think I'd quite like to see that."  
Somewhere on the far side of the castle, a bell rang. Curfew. Tom leaned back with a smile, watching with amusement as Potter wrenched himself free.  
Tom smiled at him voice smooth and silky, "Oh no. Out past last bell, Harry. Very naughty of you. I think I shall not only have to take away five points, but perhaps I'll recommend to Professor Slughorn that you receive a detention or two. You seem to require correction, and I'd be more than happy to help him. I'm sure he would think it only proper that I get you back on track," Tom finished with a grin, relishing the look of absolute venom in Potter's expression. 

"You," Potter started but seemed to think better of it. He grabbed his things and swept out of the library, leaving Tom alone in the rapidly darkening room. Outside, the moon had risen bright and beautiful. Tom smiled once more as he left the library. As the heels of his shoes clicked against the flagstone floors, his mind spun with possibilities.


End file.
